


Young

by leamandine



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Gen, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leamandine/pseuds/leamandine
Summary: Kevin tries to help Jean settle in soon after he arrives at the Nest.





	Young

He is very young. 

Kevin watches him from his corner of the room, absentmindedly tossing a little beanbag ball from one hand to the other. He doesn't even have to look in order to catch it. It's too easy a game, but there aren't a lot of options for games you can play by yourself.

"Jean," Kevin says, but slowly because it isn't spelled like it sounds. He says it like "John," a hard J and definitive N. But he has a keen ear for languages and he knows that's not right. He twists his mouth a little, sounding it out silently on his tongue. "Jean?" 

It sounds a little softer this time. Jean has been watching him the entire time, grey eyes burning, fingers clenched around the cuffs on his pants. He hadn't changed out of the outfit he'd arrived in yet. This had angered the Master, of course, which was the source of the darkening bruise on Jean's cheek and the way he kept sniffling back blood into his nose. Kevin cocked his head a little.

"You don't speak English?" he asks politely, tossing Jean the beanbag ball. Jean catches it reflexively, still glaring back. "English?" Kevin repeated. "No English?"

Jean clenches his jaw and throws back Kevin's ball with more force than strictly necessary. Kevin grabs it and cradles it to his chest. Jean spits out something venomous in French and then kicks at the wall, shoving his head back against his headboard with unbridled frustration. Kevin frowns, not without empathy. When he had first ended up at the Nest he, too, had been confused, whirling with grief, clinging to comfort. Maybe that's why Jean wouldn't change his clothes.

But if he didn't change clothes, Kevin knew, the punishment would follow. And they had to start practicing with him tomorrow because there was a practice schedule and they were already days behind. 

Kevin was sharing a room with him now. He usually shared with Riko, so it was a change for him. Rooming with Jean was temporary, until they figured out what they were going to do with him. It wasn't right than he should room with one of the players on the team, but it also wasn't right that he be permitted his own space. It is a quandary, which is a word Kevin has just learned, the definition jotted down in his spiral notebook. It was what what he did when he felt sad and missed his mom. He learned a new word, practiced it, remembered it, kept it safe in his notebook. Riko always said it was the stupidest thing he has ever seen, but he said that about everything. 

Kevin wonders if Jean doesn't know that they have new clothes for him. He hops off the bed, points at the dresser. "Shirts," he says, opening the top drawer. "Pants." He opens each door. Jean is still glaring at him. He hasn't looked away. "Underwear. Socks." 

Jean doesn't move from his spot on the bed. Kevin doesn't know how to say any of these words in French and feels a sharp sense of obligation towards his new roommate. "Jean," he said quietly, and this time it sounds closer to being the right pronunciation. "You live here now. You have to change clothes. You don't want to make the Master mad."

A look passes over Jean's face, fleeting and heartbroken. "No," he says, and it's the first word he's spoken to Kevin since arriving. "No. Not staying." 

Kevin swallows hard. "Yes, you are," he replies immediately. "You are staying here. So you have to wear the uniform, and you have to practice with us, and you have to eat food here and learn English." 

Jean searches Kevin's face intently, a snarl starting to curl the corners of his lips. The bruise on his cheek is shiny in the artificial light. "Why?" he asks finally, and there is a slight deflating in his shoulders, a subtle slump to his posture. It's an honest question, not corrupted with scorn or preempting a fight. Why, he asks. Why, why, why.

Why? Kevin shakes his head. "Because," he answers lamely. "I don't know why. I just know we're gonna play exy together. But you gotta change clothes, Jean."

Jean reaches up to push back his dark hair. He gets up slowly from the bed. When he stands, he's within an inch of Kevin's height. Neither of them have hit their growth spurts yet. Kevin breathes a sigh of relief and hands Jean a shirt. It's black, of course, with a blood-red raven on the front. 

On the back , MOREAU is spelled out in red and white font, a crown atop a large, blocked "3." Jean doesn't take the shirt at first, staring at it in Kevin's hands. Kevin thinks he might be pleased. He thought his own shirt was pretty neat, making him feel important, destined for something. He'd been excited to put it on. He thought his mom would have liked to see him in it. 

"Cool, right?" Kevin says with a tiny smile.

Jean's eyes flicker up to meet Kevin's. Kevin can see from this close that Jean's are red-rimmed and bloodshot. He is trembling slightly. Jean reaches out a careful hand to take the shirt and Kevin nods, pleased. 

But then Jean is ripping the shirt from him, tearing at it, throwing it to the floor, crushing it with the heel of his worn down sneakers, spitting on the fabric as he cries out with anger and anger and anger and-

"What is this?"

Kevin snaps to attention, green eyes wide as he stares at the shirt crumpled on the floor. The Master's walking stick click, click, clicks on the floor. He pauses only a moment in the doorway. Jean is panting, cursing furiously in French, a string of saliva escapes his tongue and he wipes it away, chest heaving and eyes fever bright, wide with-

The Master lingers for a few seconds. "Riko," he calls out, voice low but carrying. A door opens. Sneakers pad against the floor. Kevin's heart is racing. Riko appears, a swaggering saunter. "Like we discussed," the Master says. "Deal with this."

Kevin stares open-mouthed at Jean. Jean is staring directly at Riko, his fists balled at his side. His shoulders shake unevenly. 

Kevin doesn't need to look at Riko to know he is smiling. Kevin stiffens as he walks by. "Hello, Jean," he says. He makes no effort to try to pronounce it right. It leaves his tongue like the blade of a gleaming knife. But that's not right--Riko isn't a knife, he's a baseball bat, the blunt edge of a heavy object. 

Jean doesn't flinch. Kevin lets out a long sigh. He is very young.


End file.
